Timshel
by GusGus Gamgee
Summary: Ron encounters Draco and his son at St. Mungo's. All is not well in the world of the Malfoys. Friendships form as both families deal with the tragedy. Kinda-epilogue compliant. T for some language. COMPLETE.


_Timshel_

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It is all JK ROWLING bamf-ness. **

**-o-O-o-**

Ronald Weasley hummed when he was happy. It was a relatively new habit, picked up during Rose's early years. It had felt like it was only on _his _nights she would wake up and start to cry, and after much trial and error, he discovered that she found his humming very soothing. He would stand there in the dark of her room, humming away, and she would curl up on his vibrating chest and, slowly, her cries would fade into soft hiccups and then dwindle away completely. It was peaceful and quiet, and he could have stayed there forever, with her growing heaviness warming his chest and the thought of Hermione ready to welcome him back to bed with a sleepy murmur and an instinctive reaching of her feet for his inevitably cold ones.

Those days were long behind him, though, and Rose, just turned eight, no longer admitted to needing him when she woke up in the middle of the night. She now fell asleep to the sound of one of her parents reading to her from stories about maidens and evil sorcerers and princes in shining white armor. Still, Ron couldn't keep from humming when he was happy.

His brothers had told him, repeatedly, that he couldn't carry a note for anything, but he didn't particularly mind. So, this morning, he strolled into the Ministry of Magic, London Branch, with a cheerful smile and a tune in his throat. It was Hugo's birthday, and Ron had convinced Hermione to let them go shopping for a _real _broom, now that Hugo was a full-grown man of seven. Of course, the broom would not be very fast, or be able to fly very high, but it would be a broom of Hugo's very own, one that didn't have _Professional Quidditch Association – Heights for Tykes!_ stamped onto the handle. They were going to go to Diagon Alley the next morning, stopping for breakfast, of course, at Hannah Abbot-Longbottom's establishment, the Jumping Toad, before looking for the perfect broom for an up-and-coming Quidditch player.

He walked past the St. Mungo's fountain, and across the hall to the elevators. Stepping out on his floor, he rapped on the door on the right of the corridor and stuck his head through.

"'Morning, Harry," he called. He must have sounded quite chipper, because the dark-haired man behind the massive desk glanced up, startled. His face relaxed when he saw who it was, and he beamed at his red-haired friend.

"Ron, nice to see you here on time." It was a running joke, as Ron had been late to their first day of Auror training, fifteen years before. "What's up?"

"Just double checking that you're coming over tomorrow night for Hugo's party. He's very excited to see you – hasn't laid eyes on his favorite non-Weasley uncle for a whole week!" Harry mock-scowled, before a grin broke through.

"Of course we'll be there. Thanks for reminding me, though. I probably would have forgotten…" Harry trailed off a little sheepishly. Ron smirked at his absentmindedness.

"So, what's on the agenda for today?"

"Just meetings and whatnot… I'm meeting with Dean about security for the next World Cup, I want to hear what he thinks. What about you?"

"Mostly paperwork – have to finish up on this Dawson case," Ron frowned. It hadn't been a particularly pleasant case. "I have to go speak with the Arguers about our prosecution of McIlroy, but not for a bit. The trial is next week."

"Oh… Who's your rep?"

"Malfoy, the git…" But Ron said this without heat – it was more habit than anything. He wouldn't say he _enjoyed_ the blond's company – he could be a bit somber at times – but it was definitely bearable, if more cordial than friendly.

"Well, good luck then."

"Yeah, thanks. I'll see you at lunch, then?"

"Sounds like a plan." Harry nodded and turned back to his paperwork. Ron turned from the doorway and continued down the hallway. He didn't envy Harry's position as Head Auror in the least, though he remembered that Hermione had been afraid it would be prefect's badges all over again. No, he still got to go out and feel the wind in his hair and the adrenaline pumping blood through his veins, while Harry got stuck with paperwork and meetings. And, he had to admit, as a veteran Auror, he was paid very well and got several perks that came with being at the Ministry for fifteen years.

He went to his own small office, emphasis on the _small_, and sank into his worn leather chair with a sigh. Pictures of his family beamed at him from all directions, as did the Chudley Cannons in their victory photo from last year's British League Championships. With a quick spin on his chair and a slap on the armrests, Ron turned his attention to the stack of papers in front of him. He and his team had just finished up their investigation, and hopefully would have enough to prosecute the bastard who found it amusing to kidnap a woman the night before her wedding and have his way with her, before leaving her body in the middle of Swithland Wood, covered with ingredients for a Dark ritual. For some of the younger Aurors, who hadn't seen the carnage of the final battle in the war against Voldemort, it was their first run-in with some of the truly nasty things that people do. Even Ron couldn't stay at the crime scene long – it disgusted him that people _did_ things like this. Shouldn't it all have ended years ago?

Still, as he started revising the report, he refused to let his emotions show in his summary. As much as he hated to admit it, it was so much easier to view the facts as mere facts, as clean cut and sterile as possible. It was easier for everyone – the jury, the judge, the witnesses – to remain detached from the brutality and barbarism of the act. With a shake of his head, Ron broke out of his brooding. It was a day to be glad the killer had been caught, that little boys would have their dreams come true, that the world would keep spinning, each round getting a little closer to _good_.

His watch beeped at half-ten, reminding him of his meeting in the legal department of the DMLE. He deliberately finished the sentence he was working on, decided that the report was finished, and stood up to stretch. There was no hurry to get over to see Malfoy – Ron always liked to give himself a few minutes to make his way over to the blonde's office, which came in handy since the coffee machine was on the way. Gathering up the finished report, he made a few copies and took one of them out of the room with him.

The legal offices, the ones directly involved with the DMLE and its doings, were on the same floor as Ron's office, though on the corner opposite the Auror's headquarters. Stopping to fill his mug with coffee, Ron made his way over to Malfoy's office, nodding to people he saw on the way. There were three Arguers permanently assigned to the Auror's cases, and several more to help with the other various offices of law enforcement.

"Good morning. How may I help you today?" the secretary at the entrance to the legal wing asked him as he approached the desk. He had only seen her a few times before – she was a temporary secretary who came in when the regular one, Donna, was ill, or the office was swamped.

"Ah, yes. I have an appointment with Malfoy about the Dawson case. It should be under Auror Weasley." The secretary gazed at him with cool eyes for a moment before looking down at the calendar in front of her.

"Right. If you'll just make your way to his office, he'll be there in a few minutes. He messaged in – running a bit late. I suppose something came up." Ron nodded, but frowned as he turned to walk towards Malfoy's office. The blond was never late – Ron had seen him getting a second or third cup or coffee when Ron was filling up his first mug of the morning. Malfoy's office was only slightly larger than Ron's, but it was filled with twice the number of stacked papers, filing cabinets, and bulky folders.

Unsure of what to do until the Arguer arrived, Ron glanced over the few pictures that nestled among the towering stacks of parchment. There was one of woman he recognized vaguely as Malfoy's wife, smiling brilliantly up through the frame, her own face framed by wisps of honey-blonde hair. A bit to the right was a photograph of Malfoy with three young boys, dressed in white summer clothes. It looked to have been taken several years ago, as the youngest boy looked to be about four. Ron remembered that Malfoy's middle child, though he couldn't remember the boy's name for the life of him, was the same age as Rose. The third boy looked to be about two years older, slung over his father's shoulders with a grin flashing brightly across his small face.

The last photograph was from Hogwarts graduation – Ron recognized the awful purple robes. There was Malfoy, Parkinson, Nott, Zabini, and the older Greengrass girl, all with wide smiles and arms slung around each other. Still, there were signs that their repeated final year had been hard on all of them – the fragileness of their grins, and the tight lines around their eyes. Ron knew that their "eighth"-year hadn't been easy on the returning Slytherins – so much prejudice against them, even with Voldemort dead, and Death Eater trials over and done with.

Not wanting to get caught prying in case Malfoy did come in soon, Ron sat in the chair in front of the desk. He idly flipped through the report in his lap, hoping there were no errors in it. The blond had an annoying habit of looking through the pages while speaking with Ron, and almost absentmindedly making neat corrections in his lazy, looping handwriting.

Ron was through his second flip-through when the door behind him opened, and Malfoy rushed through, pausing only to toss his over-robes on the empty chair next to Ron. The redhead raised a slight eyebrow at the blonde's appearance – he was wearing a jumper and _jeans_, of all things. Ron hadn't thought the man even knew what jeans _were_, let alone would wear them to an office where his usual attire was an impeccable suit of business robes.

"Sorry I'm late, something came up," the blond began, turning to face Ron and throwing himself into the chair behind the desk. He looked exhausted, and Ron found himself both wanting and _not_ wanting to know what could have possibly put the blond in such a state.

"No worries," Ron replied, unsure how to react to a frazzled Malfoy. He held out the case report across the desk. "Finished this up this morning. Not sure if you needed to take a look or not…"

"Right, thanks." The blond grabbed it and skimmed through it. "Looks like it's going to be a pretty simple open-shut trial, but we should probably go over our argument just in case. I highly doubt, however, that he's going to find an Arguer who's going to make a very good case for him – all the evidence is against him, and he doesn't have the funds to get someone to ignore that." With that small remark, Ron was reminded of the very different lives they had led, but he didn't bring it up.

"Okay, then." He leaned forward in his chair and started brainstorming with the blond, who was able to keep up despite being blatantly distracted by something else. He kept glancing at one of the pictures on his desk, as though reassuring himself it was still there. Half an hour later, they seemed to be finished up.

"Is that all then?" Ron asked, as their conversation dwindled off.

"It should be. Do you need this?" Malfoy pointed at the report lying on his desk.

"No, I have a couple of copies in my office."

"Alright, then." The blond slid the report into a folder before moving around the desk and swinging his cloak around him. "I'll be seeing you then, Weasley."

"Are you leaving already? You just got here…"

"Yes, I am. As I said, something came up." Malfoy looked at him before asking, "Was there something else you needed?"

With a confused shake of his head, Ron watched the blond pick up the folder and walk out of office, and then pause to hold the door for him.

"Thanks," he said. Malfoy nodded and strode over to the secretary's desk, bending down to speak with her for a moment before walking over to the elevators. Ron stared after him before shaking himself out of it and turning back towards the Auror's wing of the building. He hoped that whatever had gotten into Malfoy would pass before the trial started – he needed the blond to be sharp for the prosecution, even if he did think it was going to be an 'open-shut trial'.

-o-O-o-

The china in the cabinet rattled as the front door slammed shut. Ron winced, and deliberately set his cup of tea down on the table. Folding his paper, he set that, too, on the table and rose to walk out to the front hall.

"Hugo!" he called, standing at the end of the corridor. He heard a sigh from up the stairs, and the telltale squeak of his son turning around.

"Yeah, dad?"

"What did your mother and I tell you about slamming doors?" Another sigh, another groan from the floorboards, and then Hugo's freckly legs appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Umm… You said to… not to do it."

"Right. Well, just be a bit more careful next time, alright buddy?"

"Yeah, sure, dad."

"Alright, then." Ron smirked at the legs of his son still visible between the ceiling and the stairs. "You want to come down and tell me about your day?" His grin grew even wider as his son pattered down the stairs, red hair flopping and warm brown eyes gleaming.

"Are you having your tea?"

"I am indeed," he replied gravely, not fooled by the seemingly random question. Instead, he held out his hand to the young boy and waited for him to grasp it. Hugo's eyes lit up, and he took his father's hand and followed him back to the living room. Ron sat down on the couch and took up his teacup, while Hugo watched him impatiently from his seat on the squashy armchair to his left.

"Go on, then." He smiled at his youngest child, who let off a brilliant grin and shot off the chair as through he had been burned. "Only one, mind. If you don't eat dinner, it's on you!" he called after the boy, who had run into the kitchen and was rummaging through the tin of biscuits they kept on the counter next to the fridge. A moment later, the ginger haired boy was back in his seat, looking intently at his father and munching on a chocolate biscuit.

"Uncle George let me use the cash register," he began without preamble, "and there was a funny man with a purple hat who was looking at the Jack o' Boxes, and one of them jumped out and hit him in the face! He got really angry, but them Auntie Angie came out and gave him some Extendable Ears and he wasn't mad any more. She gave me some licorice, too, but I don't really like it so I gave it to Fred. He's going to school soon – Aunt Angie was going with him to get his books. What house do you think he'll be in?"

"I can see him in Gryffindor, and not just because that's where his parents were," Ron replied promptly. He knew Hugo liked it when he talked to him as an adult, and he always felt uncomfortable when he saw other parents baby-talking their children. Just because Hugo couldn't understand what all the words meant didn't mean he was stupid, just young. And he was certainly more advanced than many children his age, thanks to Hermione's refusal to talk in anything except plain – well, plain for her – language past the age of five.

"Oh. Okay. Were you in the paper today?" Ron sighed – though now his mentions in the Daily Prophet were mostly due to his Auror activity, they still tended to bring up his past as the companion to the 'Chosen One'. He supposed Harry's kids would have it even worse.

"Yes, I was. We just finished up a case, and the man who committed the crime was sentenced to Azkaban." He looked at Hugo, who was chewing his lip at this news. "Why do you ask?"

"I heard someone talking about it with Uncle George. They said something about other people getting away with worse, or something like that. I wasn't really listening, because Fred's deck of Exploding Snap exploded and we had to clean it up."

"Oh. Well, if you ever have any questions for me, I'm happy to answer them." Hugo thought about this, still chewing his lip pensively.

"Is he a bad man?"

"Is who a bad man?"

"The man who got sent to Azkaban." Ron shifted uncomfortably at this. He and Hermione had decided to sit the children down before they went to Hogwarts to explain what happened with the War, though of course if they asked, neither of them would keep the information from them. This was different from the War Talk, but it was also the same, and Ron wasn't sure how to respond. He didn't want to mess this up and confuse Hugo, and then go back on his words later. He thought carefully for a moment, before he started speaking slowly.

"I think… I think that it can be very hard to judge if a person is _bad_, Hugo, unless you have a chance to look hard at their circumstances and their past. But McIlroy, the man who was just sentenced, he did _do_ something bad. Now, I can't tell you if he is a bad man, but I can tell you with certainty that what he _did_ was bad, and because of that, there are consequences. And for his specific actions, those consequences mean Azkaban. Does this answer your question?" Ron looked at Hugo, who was looking at his knees, lip still captured between his teeth. Ron's heart ached a little at the furrowed brows on his son's face as the boy considered what his father had said.

"I _think_ it does," Hugo said finally, looking up at his father. Ron nodded, and Hugo looked slightly relieved. "Can I go over and show Thomas my chocolate frog card?"

"Sure. Just be back before dinner, and if they're busy, don't bother them."

"Thanks, dad!" Hugo cried, jumping from his chair and racing upstairs to get his card. "Bye!" He rushed through the door and slammed it behind him. Ron just sighed and leaned to pick up his paper. Maybe Hermione would be able to put a cushioning charm on the china cabinet…

-o-O-o-

"So then, the bastard tries to go for the window, only he doesn't realize there's a dumpster right outside! Oh, you should've seen the _look _on his face when he came out of that thing, right into Falper's wand, with banana peels all over." Ron's cheeks were hurting from laughing – some of the other Aurors were recounting their more hilarious adventures over lunch. His sandwich lay half-eaten in front of him as he leaned over the table to slap Vince Calaponi on the shoulder.

"Hey, Vince, tell them about the Warsimmer case your first year here – I'm sure they'll love to hear it."

"Aw, come on, Weasley. There's nobody who wants to hear about _that_." But clamor of "Here we go, Vinnie," and "Come on, Calaponi, we're waiting," prompted Vince to begin his unfortunate tale. Ron had heard it before, many times, but he still found it hilarious. Nonetheless, when the wedding band around his finger began to grow warm, he was able to slip quietly from the table and back to his office without being missed, or missing out on Vinnie's recollection.

Hermione had performed a neat little charm on both of their wedding rings. Much like the coins from Dumbledore's Army, the rings were spelled to grow warm should one of them need the other. Were the situation desperate, they would become very hot, but in this instance, it merely felt like his finger was being held in a warm, dry grip. Entering his office, he started a small fire in the grate and pinched some Floo powder from the pot on the mantle. Every Auror office in the building had these small fireplaces at waist-height, meant for making fire-calls, but Ron found them very useful for reheating his tea and coffee in the winter. Calling out his destination, he stuck his head through the grate.

Once the spinning had subsided, he found himself peering out into his living room. Hermione worked part time in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but today was one of her days off. She had risen quite high in the ranks, but upon having Rose, found it was difficult to work full-time _and_ watch her child. Still, she hadn't wanted to give up the independence and work she had put into her job, so she struck a deal with her boss and had been working happily ever since.

"Hermione?" he called, hoping she was near enough to answer quickly. Though the fireplaces were at waist height, it still was not entirely comfortable.

"Oh, there you are!" he heard his wife call, and then she came into the living room. He smiled at her, and she gave him a small smile in return, her soft hair curling around her face. "Sorry for pulling you away from whatever you were doing – I hope it wasn't important?"

"No, just lunch with the guys. What's up?"

"It's just that Hugo has a fever, and the usual potions aren't bringing it down. I don't think it's anything too serious," she hastily amended upon seeing the look on his face, "but I was just thinking of bringing him to Mungo's and having them check him out. Just to make sure…"

"Right, yeah," Ron said, trying to suppress the panic that had almost overtaken him upon hearing his child was ill. "Is he upstairs?"

"Yes, he's just resting now. I wonder…" Hermione paused, and looked at him with her bright, brown eyes, so like Hugo's. "Is there any way you can get out of work for a bit? It might be easier if you come along too – that way you can see exactly what is going on, and he'll have you with him."

"Oh, definitely, yes. I will come along," Ron blurted out, tripping over the words in his haste to say them. "I'll just pop in and tell Harry. Do you want me to come over, or just meet you there?"

"I think just meet us there. It will take a bit to get ready, so if you just Floo over as soon as you can to wait for us…"

"Alright, yeah. I'll see you in a bit, love." She smiled at him and bent down to peck him on the cheek.

"Don't worry, darling. I'm sure it's nothing."

"Right." He smiled at her briefly. "I'll see you in a bit, then."

Ten minutes later, he was in the lobby of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, loitering near the incoming Floo bays. He had found Harry quickly, explained the situation with a calmness he was surprised he could conjure, and left as soon as Harry finished telling him to _go_. Ron trusted Hermione when she said she didn't think it was serious, but there was always the _what if_ nagging at the back of his head. Besides, his bad experiences at St. Mungo's far outnumbered his good ones, though the joy of the births of Rose, Hugo, James, Lily and Fred II far outweighed the grief's he had felt here. Albus had been born in a hospital in Spain, when Ginny had gone into labor early while she and her husband were on vacation, so Ron had missed out on the hospital experience then.

Before his brooding could overwhelm him, one of the grates flashed with green, and his wife and child appeared among the flames. Hugo looked a little worse for wear, pale and sweaty in his favorite Quidditch pajamas. Hermione gave him a kind smile, knowing that he would be stressing, even though the situation was not bad at all.

"How's my boy?" he addressed Hugo, as they made their way to the Welcome Witch.

"Hot," Hugo complained, pulling at his pajama top.

"Stop that, Hugo," Hermione ordered calmly. "The Healers are going to make you feel better soon, so don't stretch out those pajamas." They made their way over to the Welcome Witch, who looked as bored and un-welcoming as ever. She took one look at their 8little group, and nodded slightly.

"That will be second floor, Magical Bugs and Diseases. Off to the right of the elevator – that's the children's ward."

"Thank you," Ron said gratefully, earning only a dull look and a sniff from the witch behind the counter. They made their way to the elevator, and Hermione transferred Hugo into Ron's arms so she could press the button the right floor. Hugo clung to him, and Ron could feel how his son's body was unnaturally warm as it leaned into his chest.

"Almost there," Hermione said encouragingly, though Ron couldn't tell if it was for his benefit or Hugo's. The doors slid open with a clang, and the trio made their way out of the elevator. Hermione steered them towards the right, and they made their way down a long, white hallway with various doors leading off in different directions. Finally, they came to a bright yellow door with a sign, "Children's Ward. Please check in at desk." They pushed open the door and found themselves in a small waiting area, with a much friendlier looking witch behind the desk in the corner.

"Good afternoon," she called cheerily. "How might we help you today?"

"Our son has a fever," Hermione began, more calmly than Ron would have been able to. "It didn't respond to my home medication kit, so I thought I'd bring him here."

"Well, better safe than sorry, I always say," the witch behind the desk responded. "If one of you will take him in through that door to the check-up room, the other can fill out some paper work." The married couple exchanged a glance, and with an unspoken agreement, Hermione turned to receive the forms while Ron carried Hugo through the door the witch had pointed to. There were three rooms off the corridor through the door, so Ron just chose the first one and sat Hugo down on the stool in the middle of the room. Within a few minutes, a green-robed Healer came through the door, and smiled at the two of them.

"Hullo. What do we have here?"

"This is Hugo, he has a bit of a fever and, erm… Well, my wife is a bit better at explaining this. She's out in the front – " He was interrupted by the door swinging open, and sighed in relief when Hermione's curly hair appeared in the doorframe. "Well, here she is." Hermione began explaining the situation as the Healer cast several diagnostic spells on Hugo. At least, Ron was assuming they were diagnostic spells based on the green symbols floating above the ginger head.

"Well," said the Healer, vanishing the numbers with a flick of his wand, "there's nothing terribly wrong with Hugo. It just seems to be a slight case of Aberjoon's Flu. If it is alright with the two of you, I'd like him to stay the night so we can watch him." Hermione shot Ron a quick glance, and he nodded slightly.

"Yes, that will be fine," she replied to the Healer. "Might I ask what sort of treatment you're using?" As Hermione and the Healer began talking medicine, Ron bent down to speak with Hugo.

"How's it going, buddy?"

"'S alright, dad. What's going to happen, though?"

"Well, you're going to stay the night here. It will be like a sleepover, or something, only there will be a lot of other kids."

"Really?" Hugo's eyes widened in excitement. Ron really hoped there were other children in the ward – he didn't want to disappoint his son.

"Yes, there might be. But, you just need to remember to take whatever potions the Healers give you, and don't make a fuss."

"But, Da-ad," Hugo whined, wriggling slightly on the chair.

"Come on, Hugo. Grownups don't cry when they need to take their medicine." He tried to block out the memories of Bill, whimpering in terror at the sight of the potions meant to purge the werewolf virus from his body. "You just turned seven, right? Not a baby anymore." Hugo considered this, his lip once more trapped between his teeth.

"I guess so… Alright."

"That's my boy." Ron smiled down at his son as Hermione and the Healer finished up their conversation.

"Alright then, Hugo," the Healer said, turning towards the boy. "I'm Healer Arthwick, but everybody here calls me Don." He held out his hand, and Hugo shook it gingerly. "Right, you're going to stay here overnight in our ward. There are three other boys in the room you'll be staying in, and we have a game area and a story corner. Would you like to come look around?" Hugo nodded with more excitement than he had showed earlier. Don chuckled and led the way out of the room. Ron and Hermione followed their son and his Healer as he led them towards the game room.

"He's going to be fine, Ron," Hermione reassured him softly. "It's not contagious – he just needs to have a few potions, and he'll be right as rain. They just have to observe him overnight to make sure he's not reacting badly to the medicine."

"Right. Thanks, love."

Half an hour later, Ron was bending down to give Hugo a hug. They had toured the bedroom and the game room, smiling at their son's eager exclamations of joy at the wide range of toys and the blankets with stars on them in the dorm.

"Hugo, I'm going to come back tonight to give you a goodnight hug, alright? Just be a good boy, and I'll see you soon."

"Okay, dad. Say hi to Uncle Harry from me!" Hugo's eyes strayed to the door of the game room as he said this, and Ron chuckled.

"Alright, buddy. I'll see you soon."

-o-O-o-

"Ron?"

"Mnh?"

"I'm heading out to work."

"Nghn…"

"Just remember, Rose has to be at school by eight, and you're picking Hugo up at nine."

"Mnhh."

"I'll see you later, love." Ron felt his wife's warm, dry lips press against his forehead, and then he cracked open his eyes to see her just at the door.

"Loveyoutoo," he mumbled before rolling over into the wonderfully warm depression she had left on the mattress and drifting back to sleep. All too soon, his wand started buzzing, and he started into full wakefulness. Rolling out of bed, he rummaged to find a pair of jeans and a jumper. Walking towards the kitchen – towards _caffeine_ – he passed Rose's room and knocked on the door.

"Are you up, darling?"

"Nngh…" was the only reply, so Ron opened his daughter's door and slipped inside. Rose was curled up in the center of her bed, a lump under the comforter, with several auburn curls poking out from beneath the blanket.

"C'mon, Rosie. Time to get up – you don't want to be late for school, do you?" With that, Rose drew back the covers and gave him a _look_ from beneath her unruly curls.

"I'm _coming_, dad. Geez." Ron merely chuckled and left the room, going to find coffee and make breakfast. As he was not actively working on a case, he took Fridays off. It probably happened twice a month or so, but he enjoyed being able to spend the day with his children, even if they were at school for half of it. Whistling, he cracked and fried eggs, popped some bread into the toaster, and waited for his daughter to get dressed and ready. Drawn by the smell of food, she appeared quickly, wearing a neat dress and jumper.

"Looks good, dad." Rose sat down at the plate that her father had set for her, and began to systematically demolish her plate. Hugo and Rose had inherited their father's appetite and, luckily, his fast metabolism. Soon, they were walking up the path to her primary school. Hermione had insisted that the children attend a Muggle institution to learn the basic skills of reading, maths, and socializing. When they left for Hogwarts, they would "just be going" to a boarding school out in the country as many Muggles did, through Hogwarts could hardly be compared to a Muggle boarding school.

His task of dropping Rose off completed, Ron went to his office in the Ministry. Though it was his day off, he still wanted to check in and make sure nothing drastic had happened. Finding no work to do, he lingered and chatted with various people until it was quarter 'til nine. Excusing himself, he made his way down to the Floo entrance and popped over to Mungo's. It was slow and quiet, not many people. Giving a slight nod to the Welcome Witch, he found the second floor and children's ward.

There was a different witch behind the desk, but she was just as friendly as the other had been. She greeted him cheerfully and asked whom he was visiting. When he told her he was there to pick up his son, she informed him that he was in the game room, and asked him to wait around a bit as Hugo's healer wanted a word with him. Ron nodded, thanked her, and entered the play area.

"Dad!" was the first thing he heard upon entering the room, followed by a weight barreling into his legs and latching on. "You're here!"

"Of course I'm here," he replied, half-laughing. "How did you hold up?"

"It was fun, dad! I had to drink a nasty potion, but that was okay because then there was story time and the pudding was really good after dinner, and I made a new friend who likes to play chess and we've been playing _all _morning!"

"That sounds like fun. Maybe you can show me around a bit? We have to wait a bit for Don to get back, so I'd like to see everything you did." Hugo's eyes lit up, and he practically dragged his father further into the room. He led Ron to a couch with a small, blond boy sitting on it, reading a book. Ron raised his eyebrow when he saw it was _Hogwarts: A History_. The boy glanced up when he heard them approaching, and his lips quirked slightly upon seeing Hugo. Ron frowned – the boy looked familiar, but he couldn't remember where he had seen him before. _If_ he had even seen him before.

"This is Caelum," Hugo said excitedly, as though it explained everything. "Caelum, this is my dad that I was telling you about. He's here to pick me up, but he has to wait to talk with Don, so I wanted you to meet."

"A pleasure to meet you, Caelum," said Ron, extending his hand. The boy shook it gravely, looking at Ron through hazel eyes half-hidden by a mop of blond hair.

"Very nice to meet you too, sir." The boy was polite, Ron had to give him that much, though he seemed to be rather wary of the tall redhead.

"How old are you, Caelum?" he asked, to fill the sudden silence as the boy watched him.

"Ten, sir."

"Ah, studying up for next year then?" He nodded towards the book, and the boy's eyes flitted to it before turning back to him.

"I suppose you could say that." Caelum's gaze flitted back to the book, and Ron noticed how pale the boy was, even next to Hugo, who, as a ginger, was not prone to tanning. There were circles under his eyes, which only made his cheekbones more prominent. Their conversation was interrupted by one of the Healers bustling over.

"Caelum, dear, it's time for your meds. And your father is here for breakfast – looks like he brought something good today." She said this in a kind, matronly way, and Ron was reminded of his mother. Caelum smiled a little at the last bit, and nodded.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Weasley, Hugo." He stood, carefully marked his place in his book, and made his way over to the witch.

"Well, he seems like a nice boy. I'm glad you got along." Ron turned back to his son. "So what else did you do?" Hugo continued explaining to his father about story time and breakfast that morning until Don appeared in the door and called them both over.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley. As you can see, Hugo is good as new – he just had a little bug."

"Oh, I see. Thank you," Ron nodded towards the Healer. "What was it that you wanted to speak with me about?"

"Oh, just a follow up. Try and keep him from doing any strenuous activity for a few days – flying, running, jumping around, that sort of thing. And if you could just keep him on simple, plain foods for a few days, that would be best. Not more than a week – he'll probably be up to more of both after a day or two, but you never know. Oh, and if he has any recurring symptoms, just bring him back here. But I don't see that happening."

"Ah, thank you for that. And thanks for, you know…" The Healer laughed.

"It's my job, Mr. Weasley, and I enjoy doing it. Hugo was a pleasure to have. Now, your wife dropped off a little bag last night with his clothes. It's just in the dorm – do you want someone to get it for you?"

"I can take him!" Hugo shouted eagerly.

"Not so loud, Hugo, please," Ron cautioned, wincing a little. "That would be very nice, though, if you took me. Thanks again." Don nodded in response, and walked off, presumably to do Healer-y things. Hugo grabbed his father's arm and began dragging him towards a door on the other side of the game room. It led to a small hallway with several doors coming off of it.

"This one was where I slept – it was me and Caelum and George and Alex." Hugo pushed open the door they had arrived at, and stepped through, holding it open for his father. There were six beds in the room, lined up neatly against the walls as they had been in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. And one of them was occupied by none other than Draco Malfoy, who was sitting on the foot of the bed, staring at a chessboard set between him and –

"Oh, hi, Caelum!" Both of the blonds glanced up from their game, the older one startled and the other one amused. Ron gaped at Malfoy, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed, and gazing up at _him_ with one of his pale eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Malfoy?" Ron managed to sputter out. "What are you doing here?" The blond recovered quickly, however, as he drawled out calmly.

"I'm playing chess, Weasley, what does it look like?"

"Caelum, did he bring you something good?" Hugo asked, oblivious to the tension between the adults. Caelum turned from watching his father and the redhead with amusement to look at Ron's son.

"He did, thank you, Hugo." He turned his hazel eyes back to his father. "It's your move." Malfoy smirked, and turned his eyes back to the board. The smirk widened as he moved his bishop up along the board. Ron was still so stunned at seeing the Arguer at Mungo's that he didn't even look to see how the game was going.

"No, I mean, what are you doing _here_?" he questioned Malfoy again.

"Visiting, obviously. My services were not needed at the Ministry today, so…" he trailed off delicately. Shifting his attention back to the chessboard, he murmured "Oh, Caelum, that was _not_ a good move."

"Oh, really?" the boy replied, raising his eyebrow in an imitation of – Ron berated himself for not realizing earlier – his father. He had suddenly remembered why Caelum had looked so familiar when he had seen him in the game room. It had been a few weeks since he had seen that picture on Malfoy's desk, and the boy looked much paler and skinnier.

"Right, well…" Ron shifted awkwardly. "I'll be seeing you, then, Malfoy?"

"Mh?" the blond looked up from the chessboard. "Oh, yes. We have our meeting on Tuesday with Larchmont about the Telleman issue. Don't be late." And with that, Ron Weasley was dismissed from the presence of one Draco Malfoy. He sighed, and reached for Hugo's bag.

"C'mon, Hugo. Let's go get some lunch."

-o-O-o-

Ron prowled the halls of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A half-drunk mug of coffee was clenched in one hand, and a pile of papers that needed to be signed by Malfoy was tucked under his other arm. Unfortunately, his Arguer had decided to simply not show up to work that morning. He had stopped by Malfoy's office to see the lights off and the cloak missing from its customary position on the hook on the back of the door. After storming through all the places the blond could possibly be, Ron approached the secretary at the desk in front of the legal offices.

"Excuse me, but has Malfoy come through today?" She gave him a cold look. The usual secretary was back, a stern older woman who reminded Ron somewhat of Professor McGonagall.

"_Mr._ Malfoy Floo-called this morning. Apparently there was a family emergency."

"Is there any way to contact him? He was supposed to sign some of these papers." Ron lifted the papers onto the desk to use as evidence. He felt it was necessary under her stern gaze.

"What is the name?"

"Weasley, Auror Ron Weasley." She glanced down at the notebook on her desk.

"Ah, yes, here you are." She raised an eyebrow as she read the slip of paper aloud. "'Forward papers from Auror dept. (Weasley) to St. Mungo's, 1st floor, emergency ward.' If you'll just give me those – "

"No, don't worry about it. I'll just pop over to Mungo's, get the signing over with. That way I'll have them done as quick as I can."

"Very well. Have a good day, Auror Weasley." Ron turned from the desk and began walking towards the Floo stations. It was curious that Malfoy was at the hospital once again, and Ron hoped that Malfoy's family was fine. Still, the emergency ward wasn't a place for trivial things. He remembered having to bring several members of his squad there after particularly violent confrontations.

Stepping through the grate into St. Mungo's, Ron was greeted by a cacophony of sneezes, wails, and the delighted shrieks of a young child freed from the confines of his shirt. He made his way to the Welcome Witch, shifting the bundle of papers under his arm. Stepping up to the desk, he flashed his Auror badge.

"I need to speak with somebody in the emergency ward, one Draco Malfoy." The witch behind the desk ran her finger down a long chart of names and room numbers.

"You'll find him in waiting room three, just down that hall." She pointed, and turned to a woman standing behind Ron. "Good morning, what can I do for you today?" Ron gave a nod of thanks and turned down the hall she had directed him towards.

Entering the waiting room, he saw Malfoy and a blonde woman sitting uncomfortably in the corner. The blond had his arm around the woman's shoulders as though trying to soothe her, and they both looked haggard and pale. Ron shifted the papers under his arm and approached them, clearing his throat as he drew close. Malfoy flinched slightly, but relaxed upon seeing it was Ron.

"Er, hullo, Malfoy."

"Weasley."

"I have some, um, papers that need signing. If you're not busy?"

"Right, give them here," Malfoy sighed and held out his hand, pulling a pen out of his pocket with the other. As he started to read through the stack, the woman at his side held out her hand to Ron.

"I'm sorry my husband didn't introduce us," she said, nudging the man at her side with her elbow. He ignored it, engrossed in the paperwork. "Astoria Malfoy. I presume you're Ronald?"

"Oh, er, right. Yes, that's me. Nice to meet you." He fumbled to grasp her hand, but she seemed unfazed, simply nodding as she shook his hand. They both retreated to an uncomfortable silence. Ron scratched his ear, Astoria smoothed down her robes. Her husband continued to go through the stack of papers in his lap.

"Excuse me? Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?" The smooth voice of a Healer pulled them from the moment. Astoria gripped Malfoy's wrist with her small hand as the pen in his other hand made an unsightly jerk across the page. "If I could just speak with you for a moment." Without hesitation, the couple rose and, once Malfoy had placed the stack of papers in his chair, walked over to the Healer. Ron stared at the floor, feeling like an intruder. Whatever had happened was obviously serious, and he regretted thinking the papers were so important. Fidgeting with his watch, he couldn't help but pick up fragments of what the Healer was saying.

"Serious attack… he's stabilized now… things to consider…" Once the Healer had finished speaking, Malfoy backed away and fell into the nearest chair, clenching his hands in the hair on the back of his head, elbows on his knees. Astoria put one of her hands on his shoulder, and looked worriedly at the Healer.

"What sort of options do we have?" Though her face was tense, her voice was calm and kind. The Healer's voice was once again muffled as he glanced through the file he held in his hand. Ron's Auror tendencies kicked in as he watched the Healer's face – the man was obviously reluctant to speak, but his level gaze revealed no lies in what he was saying.

"Try a new treatment… experimental, quite invasive… might want to consider making arrangements…" The Healer trailed off and cleared his throat. When he spoke again, it was louder and with a forced smoothness, as though he was trying to contain his emotions from the pair in front of him. "Right, if you would like to see him?" Astoria nodded, and bent to whisper in her husband's ear. He raised his head from his hands and spoke softly to her before standing up and coming back to the stack of papers in the chair next to Ron.

"Weasley, is there –" He paused to clear his throat. "Can I get these to you by Monday?"

"Yes, don't worry about it." Never mind that Larchmont would be displeased, but right now Ron didn't really care what Larchmont thought. The blond hesitated, and then spoke slowly.

"Do you… Caelum got along rather well with your boy."

"Yeah. I think the feeling was mutual."

"Is there – would he want to come visit Caelum? It doesn't have to be for long, or anything," the blond hastily amended. "Just if you happen to be nearby, and if Hugo was up for it –"

"He'd be up for it, definitely. Umm, Wiltshire, right?"

"What?"

"Your house, it's in Wiltshire, yeah?" At this, Malfoy gave a jerk and grew, if possible, even paler.

"Caelum… isn't at home." Seeing Ron's confused look, the blond patted his pockets as though searching for something. "He's… he's here." Oh. _Oh._ And suddenly, Ron understood, and felt like the greatest, most unfeeling git ever to have walked the earth.

"Right. Yeah. Alright – I'll talk with him." Ron patted his own pockets, wanting nothing more than to be swallowed up by the floor. "Umm, I should probably… probably be going then. Tell Caelum I send my best wishes." Malfoy nodded, and turned to follow his wife down a corridor, leaving Ron with nothing to do but beat a hasty retreat back to the Ministry.

-o-O-o-

"Da-ad!"

"What, Hugo?"

"How long until we leave?"

"Give me five minutes, then we'll go." From the silence that followed, Ron assumed that the departure time was agreeable with his son. He dug through the drawer that was open in front of him, looking for another sock. He had unrolled a pair to find that one was brown and the other was grey, and he was hoping to find at least one of the missing pairs. Finally locating a match, he slipped the errant sock onto his foot and left the bedroom. He made his way to the small workroom in the basement where Hermione was making a batch of Pepper-up potion.

"Hey, love," she smiled at him through the mist rising above her cauldron. "You heading out?"

"Yeah. Dunno how long we'll be gone, though."

"Don't worry about it – I think Caelum deserves as much time with Hugo as he wants." Ron had told her all about seeing Malfoy at the hospital, and together they had brought it up with Hugo. That had been the same night that Ron paced back and forth between his children's rooms, unable to sleep, needing to make sure they were safe and sound.

"I'll see you later, then." She smiled at him again as he turned to make his way upstairs.

"Hugo? You ready, kiddo?" Ron called, entering the front hall. The pounding of feet coming down the stairs was his answer. "Alright, c'mon then."

The walls of St. Mungo's were as white and sterile as always as Ron and his son walked through them. Ron hated how there was nothing to soften the harshness of the hospital, and he could feel Hugo's grip tightening on his hand. He squeezed back reassuringly, and Hugo glanced up. Ron forced a smile down, and Hugo's lips quirked a bit, but that was all.

"Well, here we are. This is his room." Caelum had been put in a private room on the second floor, and the two Weasleys stared at it for a moment.

"Can you come in with me?" Hugo asked in a whisper. Ron's chest clenched around his heart.

"Of course, son," he replied, and knocked on the door. It was opened a few moments later by a tired looking Astoria, who smiled at the two of them and motioned them in.

"I'm so glad you could make it," she greeted them quietly. "We haven't gotten many visitors." Ron nodded in understanding. Unless wizarding children lived in neighborhoods or went to schools, it was very hard for them to make connections before going off to a magical academy. Caelum was doubly impaired, both being sickly and living on the Malfoy estate, which was set back from society.

Caelum looked up from his book as his mother opened the door and grinned widely at Hugo. Ron swallowed uncomfortably, and he could feel Hugo falter a bit upon seeing his friend. The boy was absolutely ghostly, and the starched white hospital sheets did nothing to help his complexion. He was hooked into a machine with some lights and beeping that Ron didn't understand, and if Ron had thought him thin a few weeks ago, he was positively skeletal now. Nonetheless, Hugo recovered quickly and moved to sit by the bedside.

"Draco's just taking the boys to my parents," Astoria said as she and Ron settled into the chairs on the other side of the room. Caelum and Hugo had begun a discussion about Quidditch, a subject Ron knew could never run dry. "He won't be long – he and my father have never exactly… gotten along."

"Luckily, I wouldn't know the feeling," Ron said grimly, and then grimaced. "I'm sorry – that was terribly rude." To his surprise, Astoria laughed before he could continue.

"No, it was delightfully frank. We don't get that a lot, I'm afraid, in the circles we have to move in."

"Oh, well…" There was an awkward moment until Ron thought to ask about the other Malfoy sons, who he knew very little about. Astoria graciously took the out and asked about his own children. Over by Caelum's bed, the two boys had started a game of chess. Ron had taught Hugo well, but it seemed that he was very evenly matched against the blond.

Draco came in at the end of the boys' first match. He, much like his wife, looked tired, but he looked pleased to see the Weasleys. Astoria stood up to greet him with a quick peck on the lips.

"I have to go, darling," she said, bending back to pick her outer robes from the chair. "It was very nice to see you, Ronald."

"Er, just Ron is fine. But, it was nice to see you too." She went to the bed to give her son a kiss good-bye, a kiss he handled with much less squirming than Hugo did when faced with his mother's farewell.

"They're doing alright, then?" Malfoy asked as they resettled in their chairs, the blond taking the seat his wife had just vacated.

"Yeah – Quidditch and chess. Everything a boy needs in life, right?" Malfoy's lips quirked at that, though Ron knew it hadn't been very funny.

"He and I play all the time. We could never really do Quidditch, but chess… He's good at it."

"I know. He's the first person under the age of thirty to be able to beat Hugo." Malfoy's lips twitched again, and he settled back into his seat.

"You're going to have to do your cases with Herthwell for a bit," the blond said suddenly, after a few moments of almost-comfortable silence.

"Herthwell? Why?" Ron wasn't sure where this was coming from. The Arguer that Malfoy mentioned was relatively new, and though he wasn't brilliant, he was determined and did the work to make up for his lack of quickness.

"I'll be away for a few weeks – Caelum and I are going to see the Continent. We have some distant family in France, so…" Malfoy shrugged. "It would be nice to see them. It's been a while."

"When do you leave?"

"Next Monday – I'll finish up my old cases and won't take any new ones. Do you want some coffee?"

"Oh, erm, yes. Please." Ron stayed in his chair as the blond left the room, mulling over this sudden trip. Oh well, he thought. It wasn't any of his business, not really. He hoped they enjoyed themselves.

-o-O-o-

"Ron, you're still on for tonight, right?"

"Eh?" Ron jerked up from his paperwork to see Harry leaning against the doorway to his office. "What's tonight?" Harry sighed, and then grinned cheekily at the redhead.

"Oh, nothing much. Just thirteen years since graduating training, smart one."

"Oh. _Oh_. Yeah, yeah, I'm on. It's been on the calendar, Hermione will know where I am… Right, yeah, she will. She always does." Catching himself rambling, Ron looked back at Harry. "What time?"

"Meet in the lobby at half six?"

"You mean I have to stay late?" Harry chuckled, shaking his head.

"Ah, yes. The trials and tribulations of one Ronald Bilius We- " He was cut off as Ron threw a ball of scrap parchment at him.

"Oh, do shut up. I'll see you there."

Three hours later, he was indeed in the main lobby of the Ministry, waiting for Harry. The darker-haired man arrived five minutes late, per usual. Hermione had long ago conditioned Ron to always arrive on time, but he was never surprised to see that Ginny hadn't undertaken such training with her husband. Once Harry had arrived, the two made their way to the restaurant they had gone to the night they had graduated from Auror training.

It was a small affair, just barely in Diagon Alley. The prices were low, the food was terrible, and the guests were shady. But, it was tradition, having been one of the only places the two of them could afford with their absolute pittance of a salary given by the Auror Training Corps. At eight, they made their way to the Leaky Cauldron for one last drink together before heading home.

"Hey, Tom. How're things?" Harry asked, sliding into his customary seat at the bar.

"Oh, same old, same old." The barman was stooped and grey, but that didn't stop him from whipping up the best Hanged Sailor this side of the Atlantic. And Harry had never been to America. "The usual?"

"Yeah," Ron said vaguely as Harry nodded. They both looked around the tavern, seeing faces both familiar and foreign. Ron noticed a familiar blond head sitting alone at the end of the counter, slumped against his seat. He was about to say something, but Harry beat him to it.

"Hey, Tom," Harry began, frowning slightly. "What's Malfoy doing here? I heard he's been out of the country for a while."

"Oh, I dunno. Just came in here looking like the world had ended, and I've been sending him Firewhiskey every half hour since three this afternoon." Tom swiped thoughtfully at a drop of liquid on the counter as the pushed them their glasses. "From the looks of it, he'll probably be spending the night. Not sure I want him to be going home like _that_."

"Huh…" The two Aurors sipped their drinks. Once they were finished, Harry pushed back his chair and cleared his throat.

"Alright then, I should be heading back."

"Yeah, sounds good. I'll see you at the Burrow Sunday, yeah?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Harry gave him a nod and left the room, presumably going into the street to Apparate. With Harry gone, Ron paid for his own drink and made his way to the fireplace. He paused, however, when he saw the blond in the corner motioning for another drink. Tom looked troubled, but nonetheless poured him a measure of whiskey. Making one of the rash, split-second decisions that Hermione hated, he turned and walked over to Malfoy.

"Hey, Malfoy?" The blond looked up at this, and narrowed his bleary, red-rimmed eyes at Ron.

"Fuck off, Weasley." Choosing to take this as an invitation, Ron pulled the nearest stool over and positioned himself next to Malfoy.

"How was the Continent?" The blond gives him an incredulous look before a rusty, grating sound emerged from his throat. Ron realized belatedly that it was supposed to be laughter, but it wasn't like anything he'd ever heard. The closest thing he could think of was the rasping, bone-chilling chuckling of the Azkaban inmates. "C'mon, then Malfoy, what's going on?" The laughter stopped abruptly as Malfoy scowled up at Ron.

"I believe I told you to go away, Weaselbee. No room for heroes over in this corner, you know."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Ron asked in bewilderment. The man was acting like Hermione in one of her I'm-upset-with-you-but-won't-tell-you-why moods. The blond let out a barking laugh before downing the rest of his drink and motioning to Tom for another.

"I think that's enough of that," Ron said, shaking his head at Tom, who returned the bottle of whiskey to its place beneath the counter without comment. Malfoy's scowl grew, and he pushed his chair back from the counter. Standing up, he swayed a moment before turning and pointing a finger at Ron's face. He misjudged the distance and poked the tip of Ron's nose before narrowing his eyes.

"Stay out of this, Weasley. I want to get drunk, I get drunk and I don't like it when people try to stop me."

"And that's the example you want to set for your boys?" Ron was beginning to get frustrated with the man in front of him, but still wished he could take back what he said as Malfoy's face froze and then twisted into a hideous contortion.

"Shut the _fuck _up, Weasley, and don't talk about things you don't understand."

"What the hell happened to you, Malfoy?"

"Not me. It's never me, is it? Oh, Merlin…" And Malfoy fell apart in front of Ron, slumping back onto his stool and motioning to Tom to bring another whiskey over. Ron once again shook his head at the barman and grasped the blond's arm.

"C'mon, Malfoy, let's get you out of here." Malfoy stared at the counter top in front of him, and Ron was unsettled by the fact that he had started to shiver. "Tom, what's the tab?"

"Oh, it's all taken care of. Look after him, will you?"

"Yeah…" Ron hoisted Malfoy out of his seat and dragged him out of the bar. The cool night air refreshed him, and he turned to face the blond again. "Alright, Malfoy, what's going on? D'you want me to take you home?" The blond jerked away from him and sat down on a bench outside of the Leaky.

"No, no, I can't go back there. Not now…" Malfoy's anger seemed to have drained away – he was apparently a capricious drunk – and he began to pick lint off of his pants with a glassy look in his eye. Ron sighed, and carefully settled himself on the bench. The blond ignored him. "No, can't go back…"

"Alright, then, Malfoy. You don't have to go back. Just tell me what happened." Ron spoke softly – he didn't want to set off another mood swing. The blond slowly turned his head and focused his glazed eyes on Ron's right ear. The glassiness didn't fade from his gaze as he spoke in a flat, dead voice.

"He's gone. My boy is gone."

-o-O-o-

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Hugo?"

"I wish we didn't have to go."

"I know, Hugo. Me too." Ron sighed and straightened his robes. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out his watch and checked the time. Turning to face the staircase, he called upstairs. "Hermione? We should probably be leaving soon…"

"Right, yeah. I'm coming." And a moment later, she came clattering down the stairs in the shoes she hated, but had to wear because they were her only nice black ones. "Rose is all set at your parents, right?"

"Yeah – dropped her off about ten minutes ago. Mum gave me some flowers to bring."

"That was nice of her."

"Yeah…" Ron turned and caught sight of Hugo, fidgeting with the neck of his formal robes. "Alright, Hugo. We should go. I'm going to have to do Side-Along with you, so hold on tight." Hugo came over and obediently clasped his arms around Ron's legs. Catching sight of his wife's eyes, Ron nodded and turned on the spot.

When the squeezing feeling stopped, Ron found himself outside the gates of Malfoy Manor itself. He frowned slightly, and turned to look at Hermione when she popped up next to him. She answered his question before he could even ask.

"They must have a family plot on the property. It's not that uncommon among old Muggle families either. "

"Oh." Before they could say anything further, the gates creaked open and Narcissa Malfoy walked out to greet them.

"Thank you for coming," she began. Ron couldn't help but stare – he hadn't seen the woman in years. He hadn't heard from or about her until two days ago, when a stately envelope had arrived, sealed with the Malfoy crest. Inside was familiar, looping handwriting – obviously, Draco had learned to write from his mother – informing him that Caelum Draco Malfoy was to be buried in the Ager Somnus Magnus – whatever that meant – found at these coordinates, on ten o'clock this Saturday.

Ron had almost broken down upon receiving the missive. It was stated in such clear, cold terms – nothing more than one of the reports he wrote for the Ministry. There was nothing of the heartbreak and despair he had seen in the Arguer that night at the Leaky Cauldron, before he had brought the stumbling, incoherent Malfoy back to his guest room and informed Hermione of his unfortunate state. She had put clean sheets on the bed, a hangover potion on the table, and a towel in the bathroom without a word, sending darting glances to the doors to Hugo and Rose's rooms every time she went down the corridor. Malfoy had been gone the next morning, leaving behind only a short note of thanks, an empty potion vial, and a neatly made bed.

The gathering was small. There was the Malfoy family, of course, with Narcissa at the helm. The blonde matriarch introduced them to her two remaining grandchildren, Scorpius and Abraxas, who were the same age as Rose and Hugo, respectively. Apparently she was hoping that the children would mingle, and they did, bringing Hugo into their small group of the two blond Malfoys and a taller, darker boy who Ron later recognized as being Blaise Zabini's son.

Of the adults, Zabini and his dark and beautiful wife were there alongside Parkinson and her husband. The Notts were there and, surprisingly, Padma Patil. She came over almost immediately to speak with Ron and Hermione.

"I worked with them a bit, as a Healer. It's – I hate not being able to save them." Hermione gently put her arm around their year-mate and led her towards one of the benches placed along the pathway.

Malfoy came over just when Ron was beginning to feel lonely. He stared at the red-head, and Ron stared right back. It looked as though the blond hadn't slept or eaten since he had found him at the Leaky Cauldron. Still, he emitted a sort of fragile dignity, his hair and dark robes perfectly arranged, a thin mask to hide the extent of the grief in his eyes. The old pureblood ways, after all, discouraged outward shows of emotion. Appearance was everything and, in time such as these, a firm constant to fall back on.

"You came." It wasn't a question, but Ron nodded anyway.

"Hugo was friends with him. And I… You couldn't help but like him. He was a good kid." Before the blond could answer, the white-robed chaplain gently touched his shoulder and motioned behind him.

"Shall we begin, Mr. Malfoy?"

It was a beautiful service. The chaplain was a gifted speaker, expounding on the importance of grieving without losing hope, on comfort, on the hope of joy in the tomorrow. The sun shone down on the graveyard, glinting on the soft grass that had grown over the headstones in an unorganized, and very un-Malfoy-like, way. A soft breeze played with the ends of their robes, and wisps of Hermione's hair blew into Ron's face. He didn't mind, though, because she was there, and warm in his arms, and he had never really appreciated it so much before.

Finally, the speaker said the last rites and lowered the small coffin into the ground. He shoveled the first soil onto the wood, and it rattled unnaturally in the silent glade. He handed the scoop to each of the family members, who each placed more earth into the hole solemnly. Abraxas started to cry, and his father pulled him close to his leg, rubbing his back soothingly. The spade was passed through the assemblage, so that every person there took part in putting Caelum to rest beneath the earth. As the shovel was passed to her, Hermione, too, began to cry, and now it was Padma's turn to pull her aside.

The congregation began to depart, though Ron was sure that some of them would be showing up at the Manor that night with bottles of firewhiskey and memories. He himself just wanted to sink down next to the fireplace with Hermione in his arms and stay there forever. Right before he Apparated away, he glanced over to see that Malfoy had finally broken down, and was holding the rest of his family as though he would never let them go.

-o-O-o-

"Let's _go_!" Ron bellowed up the stairs.

"I'm _coming_!" Rose screamed right back. He could hear her trunk banging along the walls as she struggled to pull it down the hall. It bumped and clattered down the stairs, and Ron wished that he had just charmed it to the living room. "Are we leaving now?"

"Do you have everything?" Hermione retorted, pulling on a sweater and coming into the room.

"Yes, Mum." Rosie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. Ron thought how very much she looked like his wife in that moment.

"Then, yes, we're leaving now. Hugo?" Hugo came into the room with only one shoe tied, and he hastily bent down to finish the other one.

"Ready," he chimed, latching onto his mother's arm.

"Alright, then," Ron said, grasping Rose's bag and her small hand. "One, two, three – " The family was whisked away in two cracks of Apparation.

King's Cross Station was bustling with people, owls and far too many luggage trolleys, in Ron's opinion. It was much louder than he remembered it ever being, and he looked over at Hermione with a somewhat astounded expression. She smirked at him and started herding the children towards the train. With his height advantage, Ron could see that the Potter family had already arrived.

"Harry and Ginny are over there," he shouted at Hermione, who nodded and began to push in that direction.

"Hello!" cried Ginny when she saw that they were coming. She hugged the children and punched Ron in the arm. "Are you ready, big brother?"

"No," he replied honestly. Harry chuckled and patted his shoulder.

"It's not so bad, mate. Soon the two of you will have the house to yourselves to get up to all kinds of mischief." Ron scowled at his friend while Hermione swatted him on the arm and gave a squawk of, "Harry _Potter_! _Behave _yourself!"

"Oh, look," Ginny said, stifling her giggles. "The Malfoys are here."

"Where?" Harry craned his neck. "Merlin, that boy looks exactly like his father. What's his name again?"

"Scorpius," Ron answered. "I always forget that he's the same age as Rosie. Acts a lot more mature."

"Well, you know…" Hermione was somber, and Ron nodded. Though Hugo had become quite good friends with Abraxas, who was his age, the Weasley's hadn't seen much of the rest of the family. Ron still saw Draco at work, but something had changed in the man since Caelum's death, two years before. Rose had no interest in befriending the now-oldest Malfoy boy, as she had her own set of friends and he had his.

"Right." The train whistle blew. "Well, kiddos, time for a last good-bye." Ron bent down to hug Albus and James, who had miraculously refrained from running off to his friends until now. He saved his Rosie for last, and scooped her into his arms for the last time until Christmas.

"Now, you go have fun," he said seriously. "And remember to write. Don't make your old man worry if he doesn't hear from you." She giggled and tweaked his nose.

"I'll see you at Christmas, daddy." Then she was gone from his arms and dragging her bag towards an open compartment. A prefect approached her and helped her lift it onto the train, and then she disappeared from sight.

The crowd began to depart as the train pulled away. A few parents remained behind to watch the train grow smaller – mostly first-year parents, as new to being away from their children as their children were from them. Ron looked to his right and saw the Malfoys gazing at the shrinking train with tight faces. Finally, they turned to make their way, slowly, to the Apparation area. On the way, Draco happened to look over to where Ron and his wife were standing.

Blue eyes sought out grey, and finally made contact. Ron nodded slightly, and was rewarded when Draco inclined his blond head in return. Astoria, dry-eyed, gave him a wave and then they turned on the spot and vanished from sight. Hermione slipped her hand into his large one. He looked down at his son.

"Well, Hugo, want to play a game of chess when we get home?"

-o-FIN-o-

**a/n: **Sooo, I hope you enjoyed. And that the ending isn't too cliché/teeth rotting. Took me a few months to write, but I wasn't sure where I was going at the beginning. Dedicated to a friend who lost her father earlier this year. Let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!

- GusGus Gamgee


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